Useful Searches

By the hands of the Gods, you have been plucked from your time and from your world, dropped into the box.
Only the box is a world of its own.

We are a mass crossover based on the concept of Pandora's Box. Characters from nearly any fandom can be played here. Because of the endless character possibilities, we are canon only here at Pandora. Take a peek at our rules and plot information before starting your new life in Pandora.

You kill or you die.

The Governor slammed his wife up against the wall, baring his teeth, breathing in the acrid smoke of his talisman. She’d killed their little girl!

He was plotting ways to kill her slow, without end, when she begged and pleaded with him, insisting that she’d been defending herself from a ghost, a ghoul. Philip risked a look over his shoulder at the small, crumpled body, blinking and frowning as though this was the first time that he was seein’ the thin, oily hair and misshapen skull, the sallow skin and open wounds, the blackened teeth and shrivelled lips. She’d already been dead.

No. He was wrong. They were wrong.

“She’s ill.” He turned back to Sarah, loosening his hold on her arms. “Was ill before you did that horrible thing. She needs help. We got to take her to a hospital.”

He spotted his brother lunging towards him, which set off a switch in the Governor’s head. A good husband did not hurt his wife or any of his children, but it was acceptable to hurt a sibling in his world, especially one that’d let him down time and time again in the past.

In the short space of time it took Brian to cross the space between 'em, Philip flashed back to the last occasion that he’d failed him… That he’d failed Penny. It was his fault that she’d become ill. He’d let her get shot by those bastards. Gears crunched and grinded in his skull as his rage and disbelief and hatred shifted from Sarah to this worm wriggling towards him.

“You had one job!” the Governor bellowed as he snapped around to meet him, his fist flyin’ straight at his belly. He made to smash his forehead down on his like a ram. “One job!”

James had seen that The Governor was starting to simmer down, if only slightly, and by the time he stumbled up to the pair, he'd hesitated to slow his charge-- hoping that the man was coming to his senses and more willing to talk instead of punch. Jimmy was miserably incorrect, and couldn't flinch away in time to avoid the oncoming blows. But at least his attention was off Irene.

James stumbled away with a great thrashing and coughing, catching himself on the ground as his sore skull spun from the previous impact. he moved away and braced himself to block more attacks, catching his breath in between empty apologies to calm the motherfucker down. What in God's name had been his 'one job?'

Keeping his hands lifted in submissive surrender and ready to scramble out of range in case any more fists flew, Jimmy glanced between the two of them and the corpse of the young girl's corpse. "Look, I--I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay?"

Irene knew she was going to die. That hideous creature was obviously important to this psychotic man and she had killed it. But, somehow, her words seemed to have calmed him. Had she gotten through? It was dangerous to poke too many holes n his fantasy. Irene Adler would be dead here now, but Sarah stood a chance.

“She’s ill. Was ill before you did that horrible thing. She needs help. We got to take her to a hospital.”

"No, darling." She whispered, "She was too sick." However, the Governor was already turning toward James and attacking, "Wait!" She called but it was too late. Fighting a crazy man was not her first choice. She rushed forward, but not in time to stop the first blows to James' head. Putting herself in between them, she put her hands up to stop him as if he had been a bull running and she was trying to calm it. she wished to hell she knew The Governor's real name.

"Darling, wait." She pleaded, "He isn't worth it. Right now, this is about us, our grief. Your brother has always made it about him." She said, trying to use his own hatred to make him think she was on his side. "Penny was sick, she was never getting better. But, I don't need my husband to beat the pulp out of a man because of it, I need his comfort." She pleaded, "Make him leave, we need to be alone." She glanced back at James, making it clear she wanted him to come back with the entire Watch behind him but she could keep herself alive for awhile longer. But, it was clear that James' presence but them both in more danger. The Governor's hair trigger temper had always been directed at him.

You kill or you die.

His blows hit their marks, sending Brian tumbling to the ground. The Governor bared his teeth at the strained apologies and protests, balling his hands into fists. Sorry wasn’t gonna cure Penny. Wasn’t gonna have her running back into his open arms. Wasn’t gonna have her sitting in front of the couch scribbling in her coloring book, while he watched a ball game on TV.

“You had one job!” he bellowed back at Brian, his voice hoarse with grief and fury. It helped to shout. It kept back the tears that pricked his one good eye like tiny, delicate pins. Kept back the tremor in his knees that threatened to have him collapsing to the gnarled wood floor of the cabin.

Philip made to advance on him, drive his engineer boot into his ribs, but Sarah slipped in between 'em. He clenched his jaw, clamping down on the compulsion to backhand her out his way. The urge grew when she insisted that their little girl was too far gone to help.

“No!” the Governor roared at Sarah, giving a furious jerk of his head. “She’s awright! She’s awright! We just gotta find her a doctor and-”

He swallowed back a big, hard lump in his throat, watching his wife cry. The law-abiding and hard-working family man that he’d once been rose to the forefront, squashing down the rage and hatred and black, twisted desire to forget his suffering by making others suffer instead.

“Hey, hey, hey. Shh,” he whispered soothingly, proceeding to take Sarah in his arms. He would rock her gently like a baby in a crib, plant a soft kiss on top of her head.

James flinched slightly as The Governor came at him again, but relaxed only a titch when Irene put herself between them to protect him. He gazed at the back of her head warily, tensing again as their aggressor yelled at her, convinced he was going to hit her. He blinked up into her gaze, understanding what she was attempting, and what she needed him to do if it worked. She needed him to leave her there. He would ask her to do the same thing if their positions were reversed, and with a very difficult swallow, Jimmy vowed that he would do as she asked of him in that look.

After that exchange, Jimmy lowered his head and made himself as small and still and nonexistent as possible, as if he could fade away from existence. Calming his breath and feeling the soreness permeate through his body from his wounds, he did well not to distract the two lovebirds from one another, even though the sound of Irene crying made his heart twist. He knew she didn't have to try very hard to fake it.

Apparently, the semi-act pulled some sort of sickly heartstrings within The Governor too, and Jimmy hesitantly looked up to see them embrace. His efforts to disappear had worked, for now. He didn't know how long that would last. Focusing on Irene's face over the cruel man's shoulder, Jimmy set his jaw and pressed his lips together, easing himself to his feet and moving with a tersely measured caution and urgency-- feeling as if he was walking on thin ice that could shatter if he was too fast , but melt if he was too slow.

Taking turns between staring at the couple and glancing about the room, he gently eased his way towards and finally out the door.

It was excruciating to leave her, crying, in the fucking arms of their captor, but he knew it was their best strategy, He could not overpower the Governor in a physical fight and he could not risk wasting this opportunity. He had to leave -- to get help. Jimmy was not abandoning her, and he would see her again.

Irene was a good actress. Timing was everything and she broke down completely as The Governor took her into his treacherous arms. She threw her arms around him like she would have if her were James and they were suddenly safe from this nightmare. Making sure to wrack her own body with a large sob, her eyes opened to see James, still and determined. She watched him back away and it took everything she had not to beg him to stop and not leave her alone with The Governor.

She knew he had to go, it was the only way. Things would have kept escalating here until he killed James anyway. This gave them a shot. Still, no amount of rational thought helped the feeling of utter dread and loneliness she felt when James disappeared for good.

She squeezed her eyes tight, the tears no longer an act. Still, there was a part to play, "It's not fair." She wept into his shoulder, making sure not to remind him that she had actually stopped the thing from moving again, despite the fact that it had been dead long before that.

"What are we going to do without her?" She begged, trying to make her voice and accent match The Governor's as much as possible to keep the illusion going.

You kill or you die.

Sarah threw her arms around him, weeping into his shoulder noisily. Philip felt hot tears soak his shirt and skin. He carried on holding the small, delicate woman in his arms, stroking her back, slow and soothingly.

Philip couldn’t answer her at first, the lump in his throat hindering speech. The tears pricked his one good eye insistently, but he didn’t let ‘em fall. He couldn’t cry along with his wife ‘cos that was weak. The man of the family was strong, showed no emotion, felt no emotion. They looked after the family.

He hadn’t looked after Penny.

“I… I… I don’t know,” he said, his voice low and husky.

Philip drew back from her to pull a blanket off the couch, which he draped over Penny’s crumpled little body, hiding her from view. He turned his back on Sarah stiffly, hiding the tears that were starting to trickle down his cheeks, pressing his fist against his mouth to stop his sobs. Strong. He was strong.

Despite the agony cleaving his heart, his soul, in two, he got the vague impression that somethin’, or somebody, was missing from the room…

Jimmy's pace had increased in urgency and speed as he moved through the house and towards the front door, feeling a swell of hope in his chest with every step. He wanted so badly to throw open that door and have aid nearby and at the ready-- a public neighborhood, a payphone in sight, maybe even a grocery store within walking distance-- but as soon as he touched the knob, his senses ignited, and he realized that they'd been taken somewhere very desolate and private. The door opened quietly and slowly, and he saw there was indeed only a dank dark forest outside waiting for them, nothing else. The chill of the winter air sweeping into the house did not comfort him either, nor coax him outside. There was no safety out there, and no salvation either.

He had no phone, no keys to any vehicles, and no plan to execute once he left this hellish building. James struggled to inhale without quivering or cursing frantically under his breath, closing the door just as certainly as he'd opened it, now fearful that the chill he'd invited inside for dinner would alert The Governor of his leaving. Glancing back, he paused in silence to listen for any reaction before backing up and running his shaking hands through his hair. Think.

He needed to find a phone. There had to be a phone somewhere in the house. There was electricity, there was a possibility there was a landline, maybe even a computer. Worst case-- he could email someone, right? Scott always checked his email on his fancy smart phone, he could call the cops for them. Maybe there was another gun lying around somewhere. Jimmy's mind whirled and spun as he fought hard to think straight, moving carefully into another room to begin his quiet but quick search. Irene was counting on him, and he had little to no time to save their asses.

Irene would be lying if she had said that covering the putrid mass of flesh was not a relief. Her mind cleared slightly at the change of scenery, the zombie child was truly gone and although the more dangerous being still remained very much alive and in the room with her, she had some sembalance of control over him. Some. An unpredictable and shaky control. Still, she held onto it with both hands, reaching for him physically as if this would also keep his violent tendencies in her grasp as well.

She pulled him to her again, making him forget anything else in the room, present or missing. A slight twitch and the trigger could be sprung. It might dawn on him that she was the one that had actually stabbed the corpse child and it might occur to him at any moment that James had slipped away. She had to keep both beneath a gossamer covering, just barely concealing them. It was only a matter of time before The Governor uncovered the very flimsy gift wrap that was his false wife to reveal Irene. It would not be the Christmas gift he had been hoping for this night. At least they had that in common; neither was getting what they wanted for Christmas.

"Darling..." she sighed painfully, still hoping that his wife had called him darling and hoping she didn't sound too British, her southern accent a poor imitation, "Let me take care of you, my love." She offered, once again attempting to gain some control. Perhaps she could make him some tea and drug the shit out of it, "We need one another now more than ever." It sounded romantic and dramatic, just like The Governor had been. She tried to take his hand to lead him away.

You kill or you die.

Sarah took hold of him, a sharp sob catching in his throat. Philip clenched his jaw, ground his teeth, forcing back stinging tears and anguished moans. He was the patriarch. He looked after the wife and the other members of the family. He wasn’t supposed to show any weakness in front of ‘em.

Philip allowed himself to press his face against her arm, hoping to hide his weakness that way. He focused on her words, finding strength in ‘em. She was right... They took care of each other to get past the loss of their little girl.

Why couldn’t it have been Sarah? A cold, venomous voice whispered resentfully in his head. You never loved her as much as Penny.

Philip pulled back from her stiffly, swiping at his wet cheek with the back of his hand. He forced the familiar whiskey cured voice back down into the dense shadows of his mind, knowing it would’ve been dangerous to listen to it right now. Hell. He might’ve wound up with his hands wrapped around her neck, squeezing every last breath out her lungs. He’d have no kid and no wife then.

Wasn’t his wife already dead?

He froze up at the out of place thought, staring down at the hand in his own. Warm. Soft. Real. How the hell could she have been dead?

Philip managed a taut, jerky nod, his voice hoarse and low: “Let’s figure out our next step in the other room. Change of scenery might do us some good, huh?”

He made to guide her into another room, unaware that it was the one where James had gone playin’ Sherlock, unless he’d moved on in the interim.

It was a daring and desperate move to try to quietly open a few kitchen drawers, and the first attempt quickly came to a full halt when Jimmy winced at the small sounds of the squeaking wheels within the wood compartments. This house was so damned old. He needed to find something helpful nearly as much as he needed to remain quiet, and it was a gut-wrenching confliction.

James turned to a cupboard next, praying that the hinges were in better shape than the drawer wheels-- and they were, but what he found inside the cupboard was not something in the least bit helpful. He had to forcibly barricade his throat as his gag reflex kicked into high gear and he brought his wrist up to cut off the airflow to his nose while closing the cupboard in a fright. Apparently, that was where The Governor had previously stored that delightful meal in the dining room before their arrival.

Now trying to remain quiet and keep a wave of vomit down the hatch, Jimmy stumbled away from that area of the kitchen and searched towards the far side-- only to flinch and then dive to crouch behind the kitchen island in the center of the room as he heard his 'family' make their way in.

Shit. He silently caught his breath as his heart pounded in his chest and he tried to find some kind of comfort in the cool temperature of the linoleum floor beneath his knees and palms. He listened carefully to Irene and The Governor, focusing on best positioning himself so they they wouldn't stumble upon him.

Irene made sure she was in front of the Governor as they traveled through the house, she looking for James. She caught a flash of him ahead of her and her heart simultaneously sunk and sped up. Slowing in order to slow their approach, Irene turned toward The Governor, realizing she couldn't even call him by his first name since she didn't know it, and gave him a sorrowful look.

"We can do this together." She leaned her back against the wall and pulled his body against her. Nuzzling his neck, she realized she had no plan beyond this, "Darling, I'm so...so tired. Can we just go to bed?" Her insides twisted almost violently as she had to force herself to be affectionate toward her hated enemy all the while terrified for James' saftey as well as her own to a lesser extent.

Sleeping was the perfect solution, he would be subdued and it would give James hours to act. His body odour assaulted her nose and his hands and muscles against her felt unwelcome and foreign. "We'll plan a ceremony, a beautiful eulogy for our little girl. I'll make flower arrangements, we'll say goodbye." She pretended to start crying again, "...Tomorrow. But, tonight, you must rest. I must rest." She suggested again, slipping her arms around him, her fingers making a soft noise against the fabric of his shirt, the rest of the world very silent....too silent. Irene needed to get them out of this room before James was discovered.

With a small tug of his arm, she turned toward where they had come from, hoping The Governor would lead them to the bedroom.

You kill or you die.

The intimacy, the mention of bed, had him wanting sex. That was a good distraction. A good way to forget the sharp, gnawing loss of his little girl, least until mornin’.

“Rest,” he growled back the word, his tone indicating that he thought it was a euphemism. He looked pointedly down at Sarah, her arms around him. They just needed to forget. One night.

Philip resisted her as she tried to tug him out the room, sweeping his arm across the kitchen island. Bowls, pans, cutlery, glasses and even a potted plant went crashing to the ground. He made to heft his wife up on to the cleared countertop, too fixated on her to notice “Brian”.

The heat in his genitals was telling him that it was too far to walk to the bedroom. They could rest in the kitchen, forget the pain in their hearts. Forget the rest of the world.

He moved to press his mouth firmly against Sarah’s and use his tongue to part her tender lips, breathing in her sweet scent. Philip hadn’t realized until now that she was wearing a different perfume or maybe hair spray. He’d have to ask her about it afterwards, tease her about spending his money, just like he always had in the days before the Turn. Before her death.

…

…

…

That’d used to make her angry ‘cos she’d had a job of her own, money of her own.

He wanted to lay her out flat on the kitchen island, then undress her lower half first.

Jimmy slid quietly up against the wood wall of the island, listening carefully to determine where the pair was going to step next so he could aptly counter it without being seen. His heart rate would give a mouse's a run for its money, and he was convinced that it was not healthy for a man of his age to be this scared. Sneaking around to evade cops used to be an entertaining past time, when he wasn't fat and older and as slow as a tortoise.

While he didn't want them to go anywhere near a bed, he knew that at least their journey upstairs would buy him enough time to continue searching for something to get them out of there, so he reluctantly hoped that Irene could get the son of a bitch out of the kitchen. When the Governor had less patience than planned and proceeded to make a loud mess of the kitchen, Jimmy flinched enough to nearly bang his head on the counter ledge above him. Pots and pans and plates and utensils rained down harshly upon him, and he covered his skull with a fearful grimace as the metal clamored around him. Irene was placed upon the counter and his heart rate thundered even harder, but he bit back a vulgarity by pinching his knuckle between his teeth.

His eyes were scanning over the objects that had clattered to the floor, and he saw a long slender knife used for butchering meat that had fallen just out of reach. It was still stained with whatever the hell the Governor had used it for earlier for their feast, but it was all Jimmy had at his disposal. He took a few steadying breaths and then glanced up, either to ask for help from God or to check the Governor's sight lines. Then, Jimmy slowly and carefully grabbed a nearby wooden spoon and eased it forward to ever so slowly reach for and scoot the knife closer.

That's not what she had meant. Her body started when he swept the kitchen island free of debris/ Oh god, he was going to fuck her over the kitchen table while his 'little girl' was dead in the next room. Her stomach roiled and she tasted bile. He lifted her and she objected softly, "Darling, please..." She pleaded. His forceful kiss cut her off and all she could do was pretend to reciprocate. She had to stop this.

His fervor let her know that she was running out of time to stop him. Pushing his chest gently, she tried to speak between their kisses, "Darling, I can't. Not now...not after...It's too soon." She had to make him sad again. She had to ease his excitement and dull the sharpness of his need.

It was a risk. Anything that took him out of his fantasy might break whatever crazy spell he was on and if he realized who she was, he was very likely to simply kill her. He started to push her down and she resisted, murmuring softly with objections. Her heart slammed against her ribs as her mind raced. What if she couldn't stop him?

"I can't bare the thought of not honouring her straight away. Perhaps we should prepare arrangements tonight." Irene said desperately. Anything that would take time would be useful, anything other than sex on the filthy counter with an insane bastard.

You kill or you die.

Ignoring Sarah’s meek pleas, pushes and protests, he kissed and pawed at her hungrily like a dog tryin’ to open a wrapped up dog treat. His chest burned with loss and loneliness and misery. He needed her to take the edge off that pain. He needed to forget.

But she wouldn’t let him forget. She changed her mind, insisting they deal with their poorly little girl now. It was like she’d just poured ice cold water down his pants.

Philip backed up from his wife and the kitchen island, breathing raggedly, his forehead and back bathed in a feverish sweat. He considered her suggestion a long beat, before nodding grimly. They put their little girl to rest first, then they could start to heal, start to forget.

No. They would never heal, never forget. Least not completely. Penny would leave her rightful scar on their hearts, their souls. Like Sarah had when she’d died.

…

…

…

Still oblivious to his brother spyin’ on ‘em, Philip crossed the kitchen to a door that led out into the back yard. He held it open, nodding solemnly at his wife to go through it before him.

Finally, the handle of the knife came into reach and Jimmy quietly risked clapping his hand against the floor to snatch it. Clutching it tightly, he hid it between his chest and scrunched knees, almost as if it were a candle for prayer. He was just about to psych himself up to do something drastic and cut a fucker-- until that fucker stopped, and began to move. James scooted himself around the kitchen island as fast as he could, trying not to disturb the kitchenware that had spread across the linoleum like a minefield.

Keeping the kitchen island between him and the Governor's new position, staying concealed from his sight lines, he blew out calming breaths and watched the Governor through a reflection in a pot on the floor. What was in the back yard? Was that where he was gonna take her out to shoot her like an unwanted dog? Left to be buried in the snow? Shit. Jimmy feared for her if she went out there.

When he backed up, she used the reprieve to catch her breath and calm her nerves. She silently begged that he wouldn't decide to continue knowing that her phobia that he caused would be too much and she would give herself away. There were so few ways Irene would lose her cool and The Governor seemed to perfect all of them.

When he nodded, a wave of relief swept over her, which was silly because she was still in the same awful position as before; at his mercy in the guise of his wife. When he held the door open expectantly, Irene slid off the kitchen island, readjusting her clothes where he had pawed them out of place. Putting her psyche back together too, she wore the mask of a grieving mother, having no idea what being a mother felt like let alone one covered in loss.

She walked through the door in a way she thought Sarah would in this circumstance, solemn, stoic, looking down, slightly bent. Was this Sarah? She hoped so. She hoped it would direct them elsewhere while James got help somehow. She was either about to bury a reanimated corpse or be buried herself. She could avoid the latter if she just kept up the charade.

"It's not fair." She whispered, hoping to soften him, keep his thoughts on his daughter.

You kill or you die.

He stepped out after his wife into the back yard, the cold air cutting through his skin, right down to the bone and marrow. His breath gusted out as white vapor in the dense dark, ice stinging his throat, his lungs. He noted these discomforts, then ignored ‘em.

Philip crunched powdery snow under foot, moving over to a frost furred shovel propped up against the wall of the cabin. He snapped it loose from the frozen wall, the handle so cold that it burned his palm, made his whole hand go numb, but he wasn’t gonna let that stop him.

The Governor cleared a square of snow, exposing the dark soil underneath. It was snowing lightly, dainty snowflakes landing on his cleared patch of earth. He felt ‘em brush his forehead, his cheeks, with icy fingertips, although he still paid the weather no mind.

Philip drove the shovel into the cleared patch of dirt, the land as hard as iron. It sent shockwaves spiking up his arms, but he carried on slamming down the shovel. A normal man would’ve made little impact on the frozen ground. He was far from normal, though, the extra clout provided by his unique skill set causing the earth to crack and break apart like rock.

“Get Penny,” he panted raggedly to Sarah.

* * * * * * * * *

Stirred awake by the crashes and clangs, a brown, cat sized rat squeezed its fat body out of a hole in the base of a ramshackle cupboard. It eyed the man creeping around the kitchen island, who was similar to the putrid smelling creatures that sometimes shambled freely through the cabin.

The rat had grown huge and bloated scuttling up to those slow moving animals, tearing flesh from their feet or legs, then scurrying off to nibble and gnaw on it from the safety of its hiding spot. Could it get away with stealing some fresh meat from this man?

It didn’t hesitate to scamper over to him, its bald, scaly tail scraping against the ground. The rat made to pounce on one of the man’s feet, its yellowed peg teeth ready to tear through his pants’ leg to chip and tear at the succulent flesh hidden underneath.
​

Jimmy shifted to rise up on his knees, peeking around the cabinetry to see the two others depart the house, and straining to keep them in his vision through the window and doorway. The sound of something scampering behind him caused him to flinch and look back just as a fat diseased rodent from hell itself latched onto his ankle, biting down hard with buck teeth and causing jimmy to wriggle harshly and squeal like a stuck pig.

The rodent was abruptly kicked like a soccer ball and flung into the other room, capable of scoring a field goal at the Super Bowl. There was no time to be surprised or impressed at his FIFA-worthy stunt as Jimmy's ankle burned with pain as his pants leg started to soak with blood. Glancing back to the door, he saw that they were still outside and The Governor hadn't seemed to hear him, so he scrambled to his feet-- rather, foot-- limping on his only good one. The man was digging, and Irene seemed fine for now. A grave for Penny, not her, he hoped.

Using the door frame as support, he made his way back to the dining room, where the foul-smelling Penny was still on the floor. The fat rat, appearing unshaken by his journey over the moon, was now interested in her as a meal. She would not be fighting back anytime soon, unless she arose from the dead again. God, he hoped that wasn't a possibility at this point.

Looking around the room with the kitchen knife still in his clutch, he eyed the utensils on the table, then looked to the fireplace where a fire poker lied in a small rack. James limped over to that, sticking the iron rod into the flame to start its metal heating. When the bastard returned inside to fetch the zombie child, he could fight with both tools. Somehow. He was no knight in shining armor. He was just desperate.

Hearing the kitchen door open again, he snatched the glowing fire poker and limped over to a hiding spot around the edge of a large oak display cabinet. The sounds of the rat chewing on Penny's flesh was rather distracting in the most nauseating way, but he listened to the footsteps coming around the corner, his mind almost too clouded with fear to decipher that they were not the Governor's. Upon realizing that-- just at the moment where he leapt from his hiding spot-- he balked and redacted his attack at the last second, hissing and bouncing back with his weapons quickly lowered so as not to hurt her. "Shit--Irene!" He leaned to look behind her, certain that The Governor was right behind her, but it was soon clear that he was not. Crouching slightly and ready to bolt if the son of a bitch returned, he hissed in a urgent whisper, "Are you okay? What's-- what are we gonna do??"